


It All Comes Down On Me

by ohmyohpioneer



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1463956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyohpioneer/pseuds/ohmyohpioneer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hook thinks about what Zelena's curse means for him, for his life - for Emma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It All Comes Down On Me

He doesn’t return to Granny’s until late, not wanting to catch them as they exit the diner (with laughter, with mirth, with joy, with all of those emotions that carve and dig and fester).

The docks are dark. spilling over desolate, groggy beams of light.

He doesn’t have the Jolly, he doesn’t have Emma (and he will never have either). This is what he deserves, after all. This is the price of lives taken, of treasures stolen, of a caprice for malice. 

He is Captain Hook: fearsome pirate and cursed soul; and if Emma Swan is his savior, he is damned and she is doomed.

\---

He lies in bed at the inn. He traces winding patterns on the ceiling and imagines his life from here on out. An endless parade of possibilities (caresses, whispers, hushed words, raucous laughter) lost and carried away on some spell. (Folded and folded inward until it is small and pressed against his mouth for him to stare at in the mirror, to lick, to touch, to  _hate_ everyday.)

What he will do to bide his time, who he will share himself with, his joys with, his fears with he does not know. (No one. He will eat them and swallow them until they consume him whole.)

He thinks about that kiss in Neverland. (Their  _only_  kiss, he amends.)

He thinks about how those few seconds of pushes and pulls, of skin against skin, the softness of her mouth, parted and sighing, the curl of her fingers against his collar, her hair under his fingers, will be all he has of his love. The only physical evidence of their being.

And he wishes to forget it (to live in it forever and ever), and it is the single most wonderful and painful moment he will never have again.

Killian wonders if the brush of her hand against his will be enough. If the smile she gives him when her son sits across from him at Granny’s will fill the spaces in his soul that have been split and pulled in his piracy, in his revenge. He beseeches whatever powers that still care about him (which he suspects are few or none) that the way her sighs move around the curve of her lips will satisfy his soul; that just knowing she is  _breathing_  and  _existing_  and  _happy_  will sustain his soul through the rest of its days.

(He knows it will not; that nothing will ever feed his heart. He will suffer and starve and he will do so willingly.)

\---

When she touches his hand at the séance, he catalogs it and stores it safe within him, locked away for the rest of eternity when her skin will be his salvation.

Her eyes are jade and heavy against the side of his cheek, and he pretends that it is a delicate scrape of  _her_ against  _him._ That her fingers are trailing his bottom lip, that she is nosing his chin and bringing their teeth clacking together – and it is enough for a breath, until it is staring at him in confusion and he is robbed of her affection.

(Until it is just a stolen kiss in Neverland and a plea for honestly and a vow to forget the past.)

But his lips are toxic and he has always been poison.

\---

He’s been distant, he knows, he’s been avoiding her, he knows. And she has noticed, too, and he wishes she hadn’t. This would be easier, he thinks, if he were a whim. If he were something inconsequential, forgotten.

“What the hell, Killian?”

He wishes she would not use his name, so ardently needs her to call him  _pirate_  and  _Hook_  and  _liar_ and  _villain._

“Don’t know what you mean, lass.”

He’s taken ‘love,’ and stowed it within, burned it, removed it, banished it from his forever kingdom that is misery and devoid of her.

“You’ve been avoiding me, and I want to know why,” she is fearsome and beautiful, and he hates his lips, hates his love for her, hates it all to the point he thinks he might burst into nothingness (explode into dust and love and Emma and  _want_ ).

“Ah,” he shimmies forward, tries not flinch at the breath she exhales on his face (tries not to trap it in his lungs and breathe it forever). “Perhaps you just missed me, Swan.”

(Her name, however, he cannot dissolve.  _He needs it._ )

Her jaw juts forward and her nose flares (gorgeous and  _not for him_ ). “Maybe,” she gulps, licks her (perfect, pink, parted, chapped, uncursed) lips, “Maybe I did.”

“Well,” he moves his (hateful, wrong) lips, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Swan, but my mind has been elsewhere.” (Nowhere,  _here_. Gone and gone and gone.) 

“Oh,” she looks down and her crown is golden and glowing, and he wonders if he kissed it, if the magic would leave her body in a gasp. Wonders if he kissed her brow, if it would slowly leech from her body in a long, dreary sigh. Wonders if he kissed the skin above her breast if it would buzz and remain and clang about her being. Wonders himself into silence (nothingness).

“Did you need something, then?” 

Did you need me? (Did you ever need me at all?) 

\---

The bed at Granny’s is hard on his back, and he will be here forever, with just a stolen kiss (a being broken in two, redeemed and ruined).

The fate of a villain: no happy endings.


End file.
